


Amanta De Frica

by mushi6618



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Animal Death, Bravery can be a bad thing, Comic from Beckys POV, Costumes, Diary/Journal, Gen, Short Chapters, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6448900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushi6618/pseuds/mushi6618
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dear Diary, I think I'm falling for my greatest foe and turning into what he wanted. </p><p>This story follows Becky Albright's diary entries before and throughout the comic: Mistress of Fear, Scarecrow (Villains) #1 February 1998.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Origins of a Plucky Undergrad

…

Date: December 10, 1997

Dear Diary,

Lately my psychology teacher has suggested that I write about my past a bit. She feels that I keep things hidden or that I keep my feelings bottled up. Since I don't want to go to a shrink she suggested I get a journal or something to express myself with. So I went out and I bought you, or rather this diary.

Now, where should I begin?

When I was seven years old I was diagnosed with rickets disease, both of my legs were deformed, but not to a point where they couldn't be fixed. By fixed I mean straightened for the rest of my life with painful surgeries. Many people blamed it on my father. He was abusive both mentally and physically.

My mother had skipped town on me and my father long before I could remember. The only thing I know about her is that she probably has the same red hair and freckles that I do. It was one gift she'd given me. The doctors said that my red hair helped me with my vitamin D deficiency by converting sunlight into the vitamin.

But the damage was already done.

When I turned ten I was put up for adoption and a nice couple in East side Gotham adopted me. They got paid to take me for my surgeries and I got a place to stay. I was never really comfortable with my adopted parents.

School, however, was the worst part of my life. It was a grungy public school, the type where if you were going to be a bully you strived to be the best. I was called names, picked on, teased, and pushed around. They bullied me about my deformed legs, the fact that I walked with a cane, and made fun of my face and red hair. There were days when I wished they'd just leave me alone. It wasn't my fault. So why did they do this?

I don't know. I never bothered to find out. I fazed through high school, almost like some sort of ghost. I didn't even go to my prom and it wasn't just because no one asked me. College got better. I'm in my third year of my law degree right now at Gotham's University. It takes up most of my time and my 'parents' are thrilled. I live alone in my own house with my dog Duncan and I work part time at a local law office getting coffee and mail for big hot shot lawyers.

Everyone is so proud of me; they think I'm so brave.

Sometimes I wonder what real bravery is like.

Surgery is nothing; I've been through that for most of my life. Tackling a law degree is easy for a person that doesn't have any real friends. But to face something terrifying, facing up to my fears, maybe that's what I need to do. So I guess from now on I'm not going to let anyone bully me or scare me into a corner. Maybe I'll break through this hate I've built up towards the people who care about me. Maybe I'll learn to forgive the people who bullied me.

I hope this diary thing works out; I could really use the peace of mind.

~Rebecca Albright


	2. Testifying Against Fear Itself

…

Date: February 14, 1998

Dear Diary,

There was a reason why I lived in the suburbs of Gotham. No crime. Or at least there was your normal crime. So Greenvale was a close, usually safe neighborhood compared to its towering insane, crime infested City of Gotham.

It was chilly that morning when I woke up. I had just put Duncan out when I heard the first explosion. I ran out to get my dog and watched in horror as a car crashed into a light pole across my street.

There was another explosion closer to me, fires seemed brake out everywhere. People ran from their houses only to be caught up in a strange green cloud of smoke that was bellowing out of a car that passed. I watched in amazement as a man jumped from the car as it rammed into her neighbor's mailbox and fence. The car exploded sending another wave of green smoke into the air.

I hid behind my trash cans and stuffed my dog in one so it wouldn't be hurt. I watched in horror as everyone broke out into a panic, they started to fight one another. The man who'd jumped from the car ran passed where I was hiding and I got a good look at who he was. My heart jumped into my throat.

It was the Scarecrow.

He had on his usual outfit of stitched up clothes, coat and hat. His masks had a huge gash crudely sewn together and on his back were containers connected to a gun. The costumed man sprayed a green cloud onto her neighbors and I watched as they became savage. A victim of their own worst nightmares; and no one was spared. Children, adults, animals, almost everyone went crazy.

I pulled out the garbage in my one trash can and crawled inside. I stayed there scared out of my wits till I heard the police. A lot of people had died that day. Some from their own phobias others from attacking their neighbors in fright. I talked to so many police officers after that, but I told everyone who had been responsible. No one wanted to take me seriously though.

Duncan and I stayed at my parent's house for the next week because I personally had no desire to go back to my destroyed apartment. But one night while walking Duncan I ran into Batman. He asked me to testify against Scarecrow. This was my chance to stand up against a bully, my chance to be brave.

I said yes.

The paper read as followed: "Plucky law-student Becky Albright testifies against Scarecrow" & "Fear mongering fool no match for brave undergrad". I wished they hadn't written that, but in a way it made me feel brave. I'd stood up to a known criminal – not just any known criminal but the Scarecrow.

I had never been more terrified or nervous as I sat there and pointed to the same masked man I'd seen that morning in Greenvale. He glared at me though his mask the whole time. When it was his turn on the stand he never took his eyes off me. Scarecrow, or Jonathan Crane, preached to me the effects of fear and how it would someday consume everyone. I shuttered at the thought.

I never want to go through that again.

~Rebecca Albright


	3. My Cane Meets Crane

…

Date: March 6, 1998

Dear Diary,

Today was uneventful. I got my laundry done in record time and had started the dishes. I really hate the dishes. I can't believe it's been a month that I returned to my house. But Crane is back in Arkham and I've had some updates from Gotham's finest. I put up the pictures my mom took when I testified and I even hung up the article Gotham Times printed about me.

I really should get back to doing my dishes. Did I mention I hate the dishes? Duncan seems to be acting weird all of a sudden. He keeps scratching at my back door. I bet it's my new neighbor's cat again...

…

…

…

I feel… bad and… scared.

There's blood on these pages now.

I tried to stop them. I tried to stop them. I even hit him with my cane! The tall goon in the glasses slapped my face and I fell to the floor. Duncan went crazy and I seen him lung for the man and I heard the gun go off before I seen it.

Duncan yelped and was silent. My hands were on my face and all I could say was oh my god. As I crawled over to my dog I heard the tall man say something about the same thing happening to me if I didn't cooperate. But all I could see was my poor Duncan, my one true friend dying in a pool of his own blood. Blood that was on my hands, on my legs, and staining my dress.

The fat short one came towards me then. He pulled out a chain and wrapped it around my neck. He wanted me to retract my statement and say I lied. Say that Batman put me up to putting the Scarecrow behind bars.

I told them to go to hell as I kicked him in his balls.

The fat man buckled but didn't lose his grip. Instead he tightened it and the last thing I could remember was seeing Crane standing staring down at me in that ridiculous costume of his.

I hate Jonathan Crane.

I'm writing this so I don't forget. I am going to need to get a hold of Batman. I'm going to need to bury my dog. I am going to need a change of clothes and a shower.

My kitchen is a mess.

My dishes are all over the floor.

Did I mention I hate Jonathan Crane?

…

~Rebecca Albright


	4. Realizing I Need Therapy

…

Date: July 26, 1998

Dear Diary,

I know what I fear the most and it isn't what I expected. Socialphobia, the fear of being teased, judged, or scrutinized. That was my deepest, darkest fear. It beat out the fear of bugs, wide spaces, enclosed spaces, snakes, germs, height, drowning, life, loss, and even death.

It took a mad man to show me this.

I just got back from the hospital today. My therapist gave me a clean bill of health but I feel paranoid living in my lonely house. Scarecrow had broken in before and this time he could do to me what he did to my dog. I'm afraid to think that if he wanted to he could do worse. I'd noticed that Crane liked to get personal with his victims.

I just didn't know how personal.

You see in Gotham if you don't have a car you either have to take the train or the bus. I didn't have a car because I chose to have a house. I took the train because it was cheaper and I didn't have to wait an extra hour in Gotham traffic to get to school.

_I really wish I had taken the bus._

Scarecrow had followed me, and using that damned gas of his caused the train to derail. He'd made it into my box car moments after it turned over. I seen an opening, a broken window and climbed out of it. My legs buckled underneath me when I dropped from the car to the gravel tracks. I ran and only looked back once when he called my name, screaming that he was going to get me.

I moved down the tracks trying to run with my acquired gate. For a moment I thought I'd lost him. But then I heard him calling me again, taunting me. Using the words they'd printed in the paper. Brave plucky Becky.

Brave Becky.

There was fire and smoke all around me and I didn't see where I was going. My cane got caught; I tried to pull it out but decided to leave it. I never saw him cut in front of me. So when I turned around he was just… there.

He sprayed a green gas all around me and when I screamed I'd sucked in a good amount of it. I'll never forget the question he asked himself: "Oh, where to begin?" like he was getting ready to eat a meal or something. He began listing fears and each one felt frightfully real in my mind.

Those fears scared me, yes, but they didn't reduce me to a quivering ball. No, that came when my mind seemed to enclose on itself. I could remember him talking to me and he got quite close to my face, but Crane didn't scare me.

It was the taunts. It was the teasing. It was every jib or jab that I had endured from students, bullies, teachers, doctors, parents, and everyone who'd ever put me down for my disorder. In my mind they mocked me and kicked me. I shrunk down into a ball covering my head from their words and blows. I wanted them to just leave me alone.

The air close to the ground didn't have any of the toxins in it, so my fears began to go away. Soon I was clear-minded enough to run to safety, away from the Scarecrow who'd seemed to go into his own trance. I'd seen Batman and practically tackled him; crying & hurt.

I should have let go of his cape so he could have captured my tormentor, but he stayed with me. It was my fault that Crane had gotten away that day.

Later in the hospital I confessed to one of my closest doctors about my fears. In a way I owe the Scarecrow for what he did. He showed me that I convinced myself to be tough, that I was afraid to trust people. He brought out my deepest fear and now it was my turn to deal with it. There had been plenty of moments in my life where I wanted to hit back at the people who had done me wrong.

"Maybe I was afraid that if I didn't bury my real feelings and fears that I would start hitting back."

~Rebecca Albright


	5. He Called Me His Mistress

…

Date: October 29, 1998

Dear Diary,

He called me his Mistress of Fear. He said that I didn't have a choice; that I would have to join him. I said no. It was then that he brought out the sickle. Would you believe I wasn't afraid? I stood there and faced him, I hadn't even seen Batman coming either. It would be the fifth time I'd come in contact with the Scarecrow and lived.

Thinking back on it, there were so many times when he could have killed me. He had the perfect opportunity the day him and his 'boys' killed my dog. I still want to kill the bastard for that. He could have killed me that day in the subway. But he hadn't, and by the time that drug of his wore off I was already behind Batman.

I think he just liked the chase.

That night at the university I'd been called to the bursar's office. I should have known not to go in when I didn't see Mrs. Mayer sitting at her desk. The office was dark and the dean's chair was turned away from me. I asked what was wrong and he swung around. I remember him saying something about teachers and fear. I wondered for a moment what happened to Mrs. Mayer before I screamed and ran. I could still hear him jump over the desk as I booked it out of the office.

I was stupid to think I could have been safe in my class room. Everyone inside was screaming. I tried to keep running but it was hard with the way my legs were. He'd caught up with me, his legs were longer and work properly after all, but he didn't have to pull my hair to stop me. I didn't scream this time because I seen the green gas cloud that was forming around us: Crane's fear toxin.

I kicked him and brought my sneaker down on his unprotected foot. It was my turn to hear him scream, but I didn't bother to listen. My legs carried me to the elevator and I couldn't seem to press the up button fast enough. Scarecrow was hobbling towards me, but the doors shut on him just in time. I heard a pounding on the metal before the elevator jerked upwards.

I actually breathed a sigh of relief, but that was the wrong thing to do. Some of the Scarecrow's fear gas was still permeating the air. My body shook from its effects and I'd felt weak. I put most of my weight on my cane, trying to balance and stay on my feet. My worst fears were starting to claw at the back of my mind.

The elevator doors couldn't have opened fast enough. I swore Gotham's polluted air never smelled so incredibly good, but it was a short lived victory. Scarecrow must have noticed what floor the elevator was heading, because he was sitting on the roof of the elevator waiting for me. Crane jumped down in front of the doors, and this time I couldn't escape him. He taunted me, said something about locking the stairway door & how jumping would be my only way down.

He actually asked me if I had a fear of heights.

I remember him not giving me enough time to answer as he lunged for me. I tried to run to the edge of the building but I wasn't using my cane and I tripped. Both my knees were scrapped along with my right hand. I'd dropped my cane and now he had me backed up against the edge of the buildings wall. I was defenseless.

He stood there; a tall thin man dressed in a silly costume scaring the shit out of me. I hated the bag he was holding, and I dreaded what torture it held for me. Instead it held my own costume, my Mistress of Fear costume, the one he'd made for me.

It was ugly and just as frightening as his; only it was much more lewd. He said I had the profile to be like him. I had all the psychological symptoms. But I wasn't about to put on that lurid get up and go terrorize every person that's ever made me cry. I can't say it wasn't tempting and that I didn't actually give it thought.

I said no.

That wasn't the way I wanted to deal with things. I didn't want some man controlling my life again. So I told him I'd deal with my fears my way, in a normal way. My mistake was calling him crazy. Scarecrow had said something about being a sane and rational and how if I didn't believe him he'd kill me. Huh, hypocrite much? By this point I was tried, my legs hurt from the exertion I put on them, and I could feel tears forming in my eyes as he pulled out a sharp-looking blade.

I made my decision.

I told him to kill me.

Maybe I was crazy for saying it, but by that point I wasn't afraid of him anymore. He was just a man who'd suffered the same way that I had, only he picked the wrong path to heal. I closed my eyes before he could bring the sickle down on me. Thankfully it never came.

In moments like those I'm glad Gotham has Batman. I don't want my thoughts and feelings to end up like Crane's had. So I think I'll plan a visit to Arkham. After all, as Isaac Friedmann once put it: "Forgiveness is the sweetest revenge."

~Rebecca Albright


End file.
